Royalty
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Greed is a nasty thing, and Vash has been poisoned with it. A short one-shot.


_Money_

_what a crime._

Money, money, money, oh that delicious smell of metal and sweat. All the sweat; used to earn that wonderful money.

Vash sat on his desk, his feet propped up, showing off gleaming Italian shoes. The harsh light bulbs overhead hardly stunted their beauty. His hair, Vash's, was a pale shade of blonde and sloppily cut. He flicked through his money, counting each leaf. So much dough, I could make a _cake_ out of it all. Vash sneered evilly. Then, he stopped. He tucked the money away and removed his feet, leaning against his desk. The darkness of night leaned against his windows. How long had he been in here?

He pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. A quarter 'till nine. He had been here for ages. Counting his… his money! Ah, he felt heavy with grief. He stood, primping his suit and hair. Purple bags weighed down his eyes. He rubbed at them uselessly, looking around the room. What had he made of himself? He felt guilty, sick with guilt, sick with remorse and self-hatred. He tucked it away though, just as Mama had told him to do, tuck away your pain and sorrows. They don't matter. Nothing but victory and happiness matters. He clicked off the light and made his way down the halls.

His secretary looked at him, wrapping a scarf around her thin neck. Her puffy lips pouted at him, trying to smile. She wore her hair in an unflattering bun and clunky glasses rested on her nose, a hooked bird-beak of a nose. Vash chastised himself again. How dare he think of such hideous things towards his good friend Miss….?

He had forgotten her name. He sank deeper into that pit of despair.

"Mr. Zwingli, is everything all right? You were supposed to be home an hour ago." She said, stepping aside to let him grab his coat.

"It's nothing, really, don't worry your head over it." He smiled, a fragile little thing. She believed him. Funny how people will believe outright lies when it puts them at ease.

She waved at him and left, descending down the steps with her heels clicking loudly. Vash tugged on his coat and followed shortly after locking up the small building. He owned a bank, a small structure knitted into a network of bland-looking businesses. It was a miracle anyone realized what his facility did. He pushed open the door and blinked at the night. He saw his secretary's car-lights sweep the area with a fan of yellow light, illuminating the street. Vash slid into his own car and geared it up. It groaned and woke, flooding the smooth interior with soft blue lights. A low music began to throb. It was smooth jazz, perfect for maneuvering the highway.

He drove into it, entering the pool of deep orange light, catching in car windows and the puddles of darkness in the corners of the streets. The liquid colors gleamed against the road. Vash gripped the wheel and thought back to what had happened.

He had entered his office, to count his funds and whatnot. When he found that he had much, _much_ more money than he expected to have, he was filled with a giddy excitement. How disgusting. He chastised himself, veering into the next lane. He felt like a king, like the ruler of the world. His grip tightened. When he picked up that thick wad of cash and flicked through it, the number escalating in his head.

No, this wasn't the money that he was earning for the entire team, nah, this was the points for the couch. Yeah, this was just his, only his. Sure, he could give some to that bony lady whatshername, some to that slimy accountant, some to his _dog_ sure sure sure.

But it was still his. The other funds, their paychecks, slid directly to them, slipped right out of his grasp. Maybe he could steal some, yes, just pinch a bit.

Disgusting.

Vash nearly slammed into the car ahead. He braked just in time, luckily, as the light flashed red. He sighed, noticing the driver ahead flash him a rude sign. Vash shot it back, but went back to his thoughts all the same.

When he went on, the number spiking, he began to imagine how to get more. He didn't think about saving them or spending them, he just wanted more. He lusted after it like a skanky man would lust after the bodice of a young lady. He lusted after it like a hungry soul would drool over a hunk of steak slapped before him. It was just so irresistible.

Vash licked his lips, as though he could taste the cash. Cash, of course, had an inky, dirty taste for it; and yet he wanted it. Oho, he wanted it he wanted it he wanted it—

"WHERE ARE YOU _EYES_?!"

A long-drawn out car horn.

Vash hadn't noticed the light flashing back to green. He drove, not apologizing or chancing a glance at the angered people behind him. He moved onto the less crowded road, he was close to home.

And yet

And yet something was pulling him back. He passed a grocery shop. It would be quite easy to go in and mug it but…

But no

No I'm not that kind of person

No

Mama would have

Oh yes

What would mama have said?

Nothing shut your trap you dirty little

Filthy

Greedy

Vash parked his car in his garage and pulled himself to bed. Waiting outside of her room, her petit body dressed in a pale pink nightgown, was his little sister. She looked at him expectantly. He smiled meekly.

"Don't you want dinner?" She asked.

He shook his head and she nodded, shutting the door behind her.

Vash pulled off his clothes and entered the bathroom. He washed his hands with three different kinds of soap, but that smell. That smell was still there. The greed, the filth, the putrid rank of _money. _He climbed into the shower and let the cold water pelt him for a little while, still scrubbing, trying to get that smell away. He didn't even think about how many times he had nearly died earlier. He scrubbed and scraped, rubbing his skin raw. He washed his hair and stepped out, looking at his puffy mane of blonde hair. In a moment he swore his teeth would fall out along with his hair and he would scream as some cold hands grabbed him, yanked him down.

But nothing happened. He dressed in boxers and slid between the cool covers of his bed, shutting away the world and trying to pinch at some sleep.


End file.
